Senses
by nelliesbones
Summary: Senses are physiological capacities of organisms that provide data for perception. But it is so much more... Short pieces about Booth and Brennan and senses. Spoilerfree, warmhearted, some are M.
1. Sight

_Short pieces about Booth and Brennan and senses. No chronological order._

SENSES

I. Sight

The first time he saw her, he was barely sober. A drink had led to a game had led to another drink... had led to a full-fledged hangover. She was not what he had expected. Like... not at all. Seeley Booth had been ready to put up with a squinty scientist, and while Dr. Temperance Brennan lived up to every expectation concerning that, he hadn't been prepared for her sheer beauty. Grace and brilliance on high heels, a pretty dress framing long legs, eyes so deep, hair so shiny...

His first reaction to her was that of a man. The partner came later. It had been the partner, the friend, who had never seen something as beautiful as the sight of her covered in earth and dust, dirty but alive. Bruised but breathing.

And then he had learned to see her with his heart. Had seen the scars hidden so deep underneath her professional attire, had gotten to know her soul.

In a room full of people, he was always able to spot her immediately, and he tried not to dwell on what that said about him or her... but she had become his standard. For beauty and everything else.

A few times he saw her crying, and boy, how did that hit him. The first times he could offer a hug, shield her, if only temporarily, from the world. Then it had gotten worse because she had been crying about him. Because of him. Once... when she had broken his heart. And once more, when he had broken hers. There's nothing worse than sobs of regret, and the sight of her all in tears would forever gnaw at his soul.

He couldn't quite look at her after that and he tried hard, so very hard not to see her beauty.

Then she was crying again, and their equilibrium was still so new and fragile, but he couldn't _not_ take her into his arms... and even though her eyes were swollen, even though she wore a shirt way too big for her – _his_ shirt – he had never seen her more beautiful. Not during their first case, not when he had interrupted her dates, not ever.

Through the tear-filled baby blue of her eyes he could see straight into her soul, and he spotted the change in her immediately... even before she turned her head to brush his lips, even before she tried so desperately to crawl into his body. Before the sense of sight was replaced by a million different sensations.

Then he saw her again, first thing in the morning, dark hair spilled out on his white pillow, and in that split second before grief and anger rushed through his veins, he was dazzled by the sight of her so small and innocent in sleep. His heart clenched and expanded, his gaze followed the curve of her bare shoulders, the silhouette of her under his blanket. He saw freckles on milky-white skin, noticed a faint scratch on her lower arm. Her long lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, her lips were rosy and swollen from his kisses.

And in that split second right before her eyelids fluttered, right before everything came back, he just took her in, desperate to capture this moment for eternity, unwilling to blink until his eyes started to hurt.

It was as if he saw her for the first time. Over and over again.

To be continued...


	2. Hearing

_Set before his coma dream._

II. Hearing

Hearing is all about vibration. Sound is vibrating through the air, the motion turned into electrical nerve impulses by receptors in the inner ear. It's not magic; it's science.

The rest is just condition... The way one voice rises above many others, calling out to you, causing you to prick up your ears.

"Bones, we have a case."

The shiver it sends down your spine hearing your name in that voice, the only voice ever allowed to call you like that...

Over the years she had gotten intimately familiar with his voice. The soft timbre of soothing – "I know who you are." – the telltale sound of distress, the light chuckle of joy. She who had never been good at reading people could somehow _understand_ him, and the first time she noticed it, it was too late to tell when exactly it had happened.

It was just that... something inside of her reacted to him calling out to her. In a very unscientific way.

He couldn't sing, though. Didn't mean it wasn't charming when he tried.

When it came to her work, hearing wasn't on the list of the crucial senses. That was... until she started to work with him. Until he invaded her life with words and feelings and that new name for her. Until the possibility of shootings forced her to re-prioritize her auditive sense.

The most heart-stopping sound she had ever heard, though, wasn't that of gunfire or explosion. It was a beep. Flatline.

"No, Booth, no..."

The words leaving her lips were a whisper, not caught by the team of frantic surgeons and nurses.

"Don't leave me... Don't make me witness your death..."

The sonorous beep was replaced by another sound... electric shock. The still body on the operation table convulsed.

"You cannot die... not like this... Please, Booth..."

_I've been thinkin' 'bout  
>All the times you told me<br>You're so full of doubt  
>You just can't let it be<br>But I know  
>If you keep comin' back for more<br>Then I'll keep on tryin'  
>Keep on trying...<em>

"Come back, Booth..."

Beep. Beep-beep. Sinus rhythm.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she blinked against the tears, listening to the sound of his stubborn heart.

"Thank you..."

Another whisper.

She would tell him how she felt, put that warmth into words, she vowed to herself. She would tell him over and over again. A story about love. At least... in the one way she was able to.

Until he would find home to her. Open his eyes. Say her name.

In his voice.

To be continued...


	3. Smell

III. Smell

Sometimes he leaned in, placing a kiss on her cheek or in her hair, and he snuffled. The first time she caught him nosing her, Brennan thought that she might actually reek. Had she been exposed to rotten corpses that day? Her mind couldn't come up with any. She had taken a shower. Had she used a different kind of shampoo? No, negative.

The second time she heard that telltale nasal intake of breath, she paid closer attention. Paid attention how the tip of his nose traced her hairline before stopping, how he lingered just a tad longer than necessary, but her mental check came up empty-handed again. She didn't smell. At least not different than usual.

The third time was after Sunday morning intercourse, and even though Brennan was positive that she did actually reek this time – like sex and him – she was fairly certain that Booth wouldn't mind.

The fourth time was at the airport, and he was saying goodbye to her. She was four months pregnant with his child, and every part inside of Booth hated to let her go to that overseas conference, but he had once vowed to himself not to change her, never to cut her wings, and even though he hadn't told her back then when he should have, he stood true to his word.

4.000 miles away, she missed his scent. Lying in her luxurious hotel room bed in Rome, after a day full of speeches and lectures, she thought about his good mood and the scent of sweat, healthy and fresh, when he came back from a run. Thought about evening Booth, all scratchy cheeks, Whiskey on his breath and the odors of a workday lingering in his clothes. Thought about waking up surrounded by his utterly familiar scent and the beautiful knowledge that she wasn't alone anymore.

As an anthropologist, Brennan knew about pheromones, of course she did, but, as a woman, she had never reached that level of intimacy with someone else before, had never applied the scientific concept of it to reality.

The first time that she buried her nose in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply, was in an airport hall, after she had been flying straight into his arms. 388 olfactory receptors on alert, taking in everything that was this man. There where nothing had been just a few weeks ago, Booth could feel the slight roundness of her belly pressing into his abdomen, and then he heard the sound of _her_ sniffing _him_.

He smelled like home.

And she smelled like his.

To be continued...


	4. Taste

_This might count as M. It is very, well, *me*, though._

IV. Taste

The first time he kissed her, she tasted like rain. Fresh and young and new. Little did he know back then...

The next time, there was a hunch of snow and Christmas in the air, but in her mouth he found minty excitement.

Their third kiss, however stolen it was, was soaked with despair. So close, so close that it was almost burning them... but not close enough.

Then there was nothing for a while, but during the nothingness that was a big fat charade of wrong turns and twist, he wasn't able to forget her taste. Not once. Regardless of how hard he tried.

The fourth time he kissed her, she tasted like tears. Salty and sad, so broken, so vulnerable. He felt the strange urge to heal her somehow, and even though one can't possibly heal a hole as big as that one with a kiss... he tried.

He tried so much more than that. He loved her.

The first time he loved her was an onslaught of senses and sensations. Some new, but most of them so deeply familiar, but... still different.

How can you love someone you know so well for the first time?

It wasn't sex. It was something else entirely that he found in her body so open beneath his own.

Then there was silence. And awe. The world didn't stop turning. There was a killer to catch.

The second time he loved her was a rush. He needed it to be real, needed it so much, and if her breathless moans, her strong grip on him were an indicator, she needed it just that desperately. There was barely time to revel in the taste of her lips, the taste of her cry, as he entered her body... there was no time at all, just the overwhelming wish to be as close to her as ever possible.

"Why are you crying?"

"I... I'm not..."

Stubborn and strong and his. And so very warmhearted.

One can be a slip, can happen. Two is a pattern. A beginning.

The third time he loved her was the first time he tasted her. The first time laughter mingled with the sound of sighs and moans. _What do you mean? You never laugh during sex? Because I do._ The first time they actually had time.

Her neck tasted like honey – How was that even possible? – the valley between her full breasts was covered by a fine layer of sweat, salty but sweet at the same time. She arched beneath him, and as he took her hard nipple between his lips, he found a whole new world of taste. So female and innocent and her.

Through the sensation of her on his tongue he could feel her long fingers running through his hair, could hear her unsteady breaths, and he kissed more and more of her. His lips traveled down her body, licking a lazy circle around her bellybutton – eliciting a gasp from her – until he reached her most private parts. And... inhaling deeply... he lowered his mouth to her... and the very taste of her exploded on his tongue.

It was... indescribable.

"Nothing is indescribable, you just haven't tried hard enough to find the correct term."

He could hear her voice in his head, even though the real woman in his bed was far away from uttering reasonable statements, and he might have laughed if it hadn't been so... indescribable.

"Booth..."

Her legs parted for him, giving him better access to her, and his tongue darted out to sweep over her, licking and teasing and sucking. She tasted so... right. With a moan of his own, he palmed her thighs to spread her even further, and his tongue dipped into her core, reveling in her utter submission, in her trust.

"Yes..."

Blinking hard against the sudden rush of emotions, he focused on pleasuring her, alternating between licking and sucking, tender but firm at the same time.

This was Bones he was tasting... Finally!

There was so much he wanted to tell her, but with his mouth on her, there was no way to let out the words which had been buried for so long, and so he just kissed her, as intimately as a man could ever kiss a woman.

A twirl of his tongue evoked a sharp gasp, gentle suction meant that she arched her back. She was velvet on his tongue, but so much stronger than velvet could ever be.

Writhing under his mouth, she lost her senses, every single one of them, until there was nothing left but the sensation of his tongue rubbing over her again and again... liquid fire and his name on her lips.

"Booth, Booth... _Booth_."

She was chanting without noticing it, her fingers anchored in his hair, and he hummed against her flesh.

He knew her! He had known her for so long, but, finally, he had gathered this piece of information as well... was still gathering it... and then, with a soft cry, she tensed and shuddered, hot and rich under his kiss.

Blood was rushing through her ears, so very loud, and when she came down and reason kicked in, he was still licking her, gentler this time. With a soft sigh, her fingers relaxed, letting go of his hair, cupping his cheek.

With an equally soft sigh, he kissed her one more time before closing her thighs.

Crawling up, he met her sated smile, matching it with one of his own, less sated, though, but still dazzling.

"Hey..."

He was swallowing hard against the lump of feelings in his throat.

"Hey yourself."

Her voice... but huskier than he had ever heard it.

Lowering his face to her, he kissed her, lips meeting, tongues tangling, and she found herself in his mouth, tasted his lust, her pleasure. And if she hadn't already been so very much in love with him, this moment alone might have changed her world. It was so much... but not _too_ much anymore. She wasn't afraid, she just wanted it. Him.

"Make love to me."

And that he did. With strength born out of utmost affection, he took possession of her body, took possession of her mind. He moved in her, with her, until there was nothing left to give, until their universe had, once again, shattered and rebuilt itself.

Until she tasted like him. And he like her.

To be continued...

_Just a few more hours, a few more hours! #WelcomeBabyBones! This is like Christmas Eve :)_


	5. Touch

_I almost wrote this one about Brennan being pregnant and the baby being inside of her, but since I know nothing about that feeling, it would have been simple guesswork, research and emotional jibber-jabber. Ain't no fun. So, let's settle for some good, old-fashioned M stuff, shall we?_

V. Touch

Knowing when a simple touch is enough... Angela had once taught her that concept, and Brennan hadn't really questioned the superior wisdom of her best friend... only... there was nothing _simple_ about touching Booth.

Had never been.

She had never believed in fate, it was ridiculous by nature, but touching Booth caused her to waver in that non-belief. Every single time. Maybe it was because he was so utterly gorgeous, all man and muscles and strength, maybe it was the fact that he was as soft on the inside as he was firm on the outside, maybe it was just the simple truth that he knew her so well.

First of all, there were the hugs. He called them guy hugs, but she had the strong suspicion that the name was just a cover-up for something else entirely. Booth gave good hugs. He didn't only take her into his arms, he hugged with his full body. Whenever he embraced her, she was surrounded by him. It made her feel safe... and precious. Even though she would never admit it.

There was more than hugs, though. His hand on her back, steering her in the right direction. Or on her arm, either stopping or encouraging her. Sometimes just because.

There was still more... and even though it didn't really make sense, sometimes she could feel his gaze on her body as palpable as a caress. It was unsettling... but oh so addictive.

She didn't fully realize how often he touched her until it stopped.

The hugs, the touches, the gazes, the warmth.

And, like any addict, she felt the loss like an almost physical ache.

He was still the same tactile person he had always been, but now she wasn't on the receiving end of his physicalness anymore. This was good, she tried to believe it, after all, it had been her own fault. No, not fault. Decision. Fault. Decision... But, somehow, her world had gotten colder.

She bought extra-cozy sweaters and, at night, she cuddled up to some fluffy pillows lying next to her.

Even after Hannah was gone, the hugs failed to reappear. His gaze however was back, lingering warm on her once again and, after some time went by, she felt confident enough to brush his arm or bump his hip while running.

There was a new kind of caution, though.

She missed his hugs.

During the case with the silent girl she almost broke. It hit too close to home, but he didn't offer a guy hug and she didn't ask for one. In a failed attempt to hug herself, she cried herself to sleep that night. It was pathetic and she would never tell.

The night that Vincent died, she finally did break down. Her plea was a whisper, mingled with sobs.

"Can you just...?"

"Yeah... that's what I'm here for."

The moment he took her into his arms, she cried in pain and relief. Her world was shattered, but with him surrounding her, she felt safe enough to mourn the loss, to reassemble the pieces. It wasn't until later – he was still holding her, muttering sweet nonsense, his palm rubbing her back – that she realized that never ever did she want to live without his hugs again.

And in a desperate try to be as close to him as ever possible, she lifted her head and grazed his lips with hers. All around her, he stilled. His frame went rigid, his breaths stopped.

"Bones..."

It was as much a question as a plea, and she silenced him with a fingertip on his lips, tracing the full curve of his mouth. Pillowy and smooth. Her fingers followed the strong line of his mandible, the scratchy sound of his rough stubble under her skin almost loud in the otherwise silent night air. His neck was warm, the carotid artery throbbing wildly under her touch. The fabric of his shirt was damp from her tears, and, with a shuddered whimper, she closed her eyes and sought his lips anew, this time for real.

His lips parting under hers was the first really good thing that had happened to her in a long while.

She was afraid to ask him if he was still angry, so afraid that he might not want her yet. Or, worse, not anymore. But then his hands that had been holding her so carefully started to move, and she could feel the warmth of his callous palms on her bare skin right where her shirt had ridden up.

Inhaling an unsteady breath, she broke the kiss, her arms flying around his neck in an attempt to bury herself even deeper in his embrace.

"Bones..."

"Don't tell me that this is wrong. Please."

Her voice was rough from crying, and his heart broke for her over and over again.

"I just want to feel you. So, so much..."

Her whisper hit his insides, opening doors that had been closed for so long. He cupped the back of her head, the texture of her hair like pure silk under his fingers.

"Shh... you're safe. I've got you, Babe."

"Booth... you could have died today. And I never would have known how it feels... Just because I was so stupid."

"You were scared," he offered, his voice as much a caress as his touch.

"No, I was stupid. Today... I was scared. I understand the difference."

And her lips were back on his, sucking and nibbling and caressing and driving him plain crazy. The velvety warmth of her tongue swept over his and she made that tiny whimper in the back of her throat that was his undone.

Because everything she had said he knew to be true. He felt it as well. Had she died today – the sheer possibility still made him nauseous – he never would have known as well. The silk of her hair and the softness of her body in his arms would have remained as a faint memory... but he never would have gotten a chance to learn the rest.

He wanted to touch her. So badly.

His hands dove under her shirt – _his_ shirt – without thinking, making contact with smooth Bones skin. Goosebumps appeared under his touch, but she didn't stop him, on the contrary, her hands started their very own exploration of his body. Tiny hairs on his arms. The rough surface of his scars. Well-defined biceps, puckered nipples. Strong abdominal muscles, and right there under his bellybutton she found a line of wiry curls leading downwards. She didn't stop, as she reached the waistband of his pants, and his belly trembled, as he sucked in a breath, right before she touched the half-swollen thickness of him for the very first time.

"Bones..."

His voice sounded uncharacteristically high, and then he grew in her hand, hardened under her touch. For her. Because of her.

Lowering her lips to his throat, she sucked greedily, eager to feel even more of him, and he couldn't stop his pelvis from rocking as little as he could suppress the groan deep in his chest. She could feel his hands on her, all over her; her back, her belly, her breasts, and a new kind of vulnerability moistened her eyes, as she was overwhelmed by her body's response to his touch.

There was heat, so much heat burning her from the inside-out and it was so much more than any kind of desire she had ever experienced.

She needed to touch more of him; she needed him to touch more of her... and maybe she had said that aloud because, with a strangled moan, he let his fingers slip under the hem of her pants and panties... over her and inside of her.

Arching her back, she spread her thighs for him, as well as even possible... and perhaps he needed to touch her just as urgently because his eyes were smoldering dark, his facial expression almost painfully twisted.

She was warm and damp around his fingers, muscles fluttering, as he massaged her from the inside, and he had never seen her so open, so vulnerable, so beautiful. She surrendered herself to his intimate caress without stopping her very own worship of his body, and he felt so week but so strong at the same time.

"Booth... more," she whispered on a breathless plea, and, lowering his lips to her, he kissed her without holding back, all the while stroking into her... over and over again.

Oh God, she could already feel it coming, the mighty wave of explosion and satisfaction. It had been so long, way too long... and it had never been _him_ before. She tried to delay it, the inevitable, and maybe she had said that aloud again because his breathy voice was caressing her ear.

"Let go."

And just like that she was sobbing again, trembling under his touch, all around his gentle fingers, as release rushed through her body. He almost came with her, in her palm like an inexperienced teenager. It was just so damn much. The look on her face was agony and beauty, and he massaged her until the spasms subsided, until she was soft and molten around his fingers.

Her eyes flew open, new tears shimmering in deep blue depths.

"Booth."

He kissed her salty cheeks, her quivering lips.

"You feel wonderful."

"More... please..."

Clothes were discarded, finally, but she didn't feel exposed because he was covering her like a blanket. Her limbs were still so week, her body so heavy in the aftermath of her orgasm, but, opening her legs for him, she welcomed him with everything she had.

The moment he sunk into her, Booth knew that he would be a dead man if she took it back. The epiphany made him dizzy and he stilled above her, something close to panic clouding his gaze.

"Tell me that you mean it."

Her hands flew to his dear face, stroking his cheeks.

"I mean it. This is real, Booth."

"You cannot take it back. Promise."

"I promise, promise, promise."

She repeated the word over and over again, between kisses and thrusts. With her clutching him so fiercely he couldn't move utterly fast, but he didn't need to, and, against all odds, she could feel herself responding again, so soon.

This was crazy... except that it wasn't. Suddenly everything made sense to her, and her fingers raked over his strong back almost feverishly, digging probably too deep into his skin, but if he minded, he didn't say so.

He was touching her deeper than anybody had ever been able to, and, of course, this made sense as well because he was the only one who had ever been able to really touch her. Had she said that aloud again? She didn't know, but he was almost howling, as if in response to her revelation, holding her so tight in his arms, sliding in and out of her as if he had been doing this forever, not as if it was their very first time.

It was love. She felt stupid again, utterly silly for acknowledging the simple truth so late.

"You are not silly, not silly," he breathed, and maybe she should stop thinking because she had no idea anymore which of her thoughts she was actually telling him. But then again, she had probably never been so honest before and maybe it was okay. He certainly seemed to be okay. More than okay.

Was that his hand under her back pulling her tighter into his movements? Or was it her very own hand on his back? She couldn't tell, it was as if everything he was doing, everything she was doing had become one single touch. One very mighty touch. Like a puzzle and now the pieces were working together. Oh, he might like that metaphor.

He chuckled, and his hot breath mingled with hers.

"Do you always talk that much during sex?"

Did she? No, she didn't. But then again, maybe she did with him.

This was crazy. And not.

"Magic-y?" he added, and his thrusts got just a little bit out of control.

"Booth! Oh my God. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod..."

The first wave came by surprise, hitting her hard, almost washing her away. Except that nothing could take her away from him because he was joined with her, anchoring her in the most exquisite way ever.

He stilled above her, just for a moment, as if reveling in the sensation of her clenching around him so intimately.

The second wave took him with her, and, with a cry so hoarse but soft at the same time, he lost himself in her body, in her touch, in her caress. Lost himself... and found something new entirely.

When the rush of blood in his ears stopped ringing, he found himself collapsed on her body, helplessly entangled with her, and she was murmuring incoherently. Was she crying again? Something moist hit his face, and, turning his head, he kissed her cheek, soothed her tears.

"Are you okay?"

He felt silly for asking because... how could she be okay after everything that had happened? But, still, he needed to know if she was _okay_.

Her hands managed to disentangle themselves from the rest of their bodies, and she cupped his face firmly.

"I don't want to live without you touching me ever again. Is that okay?"

"Deal."

"You make me feel."

His chest tightened and expanded at her words, and he caressed her cheek with one finger.

"That's because you make me feel as well."

"Can you... can you hold me some more?"

"Always, Bones, always."

Rolling down from her, he took her with him until she was, once again, safe in the circle of his arms. Her hand found his on her belly, fingers interlacing, and she pushed one of her legs between his.

Because, sometimes, you need more than a simple touch. Sometimes it is impossible to settle for less than everything.

She'd have to tell Angela.

To be continued...

_There's one more, the sixth sense._


	6. The Sixth Sense

VI. The Sixth Sense

Temperance Brennan had never believed in extrasensory perception. Gut instinct. The sixth sense. Intuition. She wouldn't call it a myth because she had seen evidence of it in other people, but it had never been hers to feel. Had always been _his_.

From their very first case on when he had told her without the shadow of a doubt that he knew that the Judge had killed the girl up to the very personal field of their relationship – Booth had always relied on his sixth sense. He could look at a person and see the truth... fear, guilt, love. He had looked at her, Brennan, had looked at her so long ago and seen the possibilities, even back then. Had somehow claimed her as his. With a name, a hand on her back, an arm around her shoulder.

He always seemed to notice when she entered a room, and even over a sea of people, his eyes could found hers.

That was his magic.

Brennan didn't even believe in magic, but she believed in Booth and she believed in evidence.

But somehow, this time, she knew. Had known from the very moment she had said goodbye to him in front of that church – her goodbye, not his – had known from the first night she had put mile after mile between them, the baby making whiny noises in the darkness.

Had known that he understood.

Maybe he had rubbed off on her, maybe it was the fact that they would forever be linked together through this tiny human being they had created, maybe it was just because she needed his kind of faith so desperately right now... Whatever it was, she was certain that he understood.

She didn't believe in the figurative meaning of heartache, but her chest had been sore and tight that night. Leaving him had felt like a cut, and even though she had been sure, so sure that it was the logical thing to do, there had been a dull ache throbbing inside of her.

It hadn't subsided. Not that night in a shabby motel room, when she had enfolded the fidgety baby in her arms, not in the days and weeks which came after that first sleepless night.

He had always been on her mind, day and night. She saw him in his daughter, carried the memory of his smile inside of her. And whenever his voice came back to her, it said that he understood. He knew that she hadn't left him and he wanted, needed her and Christine back. But he did never blame her. He understood. He was waiting for her, missing her. She felt the truth of it deeper than she had ever felt anything before... and she was already feeling so much living with him, loving him.

Now it was over... was it over? Miles and miles away from her, their support system had held, their friends had outsmarted the smart guy... at least for now. The TV had broadcast the news, the famous fugitive Temperance Brennan was no longer a murder suspect. Still, there would be questions. For now, they could wait. Christine started to fuss, and Brennan patted her bottom, cooing gently.

"We're waiting for daddy. Are you excited to see daddy?"

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. "Excited" didn't even begin to cover the things she felt. The moment she had seen her own face in the news this morning, she had grabbed her cell, texting him her whereabouts. His answer had been short and quick. _I'm coming._

She hadn't dared to call him, too scared that hearing his voice after three months would break her. And she couldn't break, not now, not so close to the finish line. Her hands were shaking, though, as she shifted the baby in her arms.

Three months. Three months of not seeing him, not touching him, not hearing his soft voice. Three months without his strength, his warmth. She had been so close to calling him, a hundred times over, and if it hadn't been for Christine, she might have given up long ago. But this wasn't about her, first and foremost it was about them. Keeping them safe. Whole. And, in the end, together.

Christine could turn around now. From her back to her belly. And the other way round. Effortlessly. Even rob a few feet. And he hadn't been there to share the joy, the pride. Brennan had captured every milestone with her phone, recorded it with tears in her eyes for him to watch. Later.

Whenever later would be.

Later was now.

Suddenly, her stomach clenched, and, even before she heard the footsteps on the other side of her door, a wave of relief and anxiety rushed through her. He was there.

-BONES-

Faith, he had faith in her. Had always had. She was his partner, his best friend, the love of his life and mother of his daughter. The list was long. Seeley Booth was a man of faith and he trusted her with everything he had.

He knew why she had left. Even understood why she hadn't told him.

He knew that she was a fighter, and that, miles away, she was fighting for their family just like he was. Just like all of them were. Still, there was an empty hole where her laughter had been, and he missed her so much, missed _them_ with burning fire. He wanted to hug his woman, hold his daughter. He wanted his life back.

Sometimes, in the night, it was as if he could hear them cry and he tried to tell her that everything was okay or, at least, would be.

He knew that they were safe, knew it with unwavering certainty because there was no way – no way in hell – he could breathe and blink in a world without Brennan and Christine. Maybe it was pathetic, but Booth was convinced that he would feel it if something happened to them. Something worse than running away from the system.

The days went by, turned into weeks. He didn't stop breathing. Sometimes people whispered when he entered a room. There was empathy, pity even. He didn't give a shit. Brennan hadn't left him, and he knew it. She wasn't destroying their family; she was protecting it.

And when the day came, the day that finally turned the tables, he took the little bag that had been ready for weeks, grabbed his car keys and waited. He didn't have to wait long until her message reached him and he typed the words with shaking fingers. _I'm coming._

The miles flew by in a haze, as he was closing the distance to her. Three months and a thousand miles. The address she had given him was in a rural area, the two-storied motel easy enough to spot. He didn't stop, didn't knock. The doorknob turned in his cold hand.

And there she was. They were.

"Bones!"

He choked on the word and she watched him with wide blue eyes, walls crumbling, tears gathering. Her heart reaching out to him.

"Bones..."

The baby on her hip cooed, throwing her fists in the air, and it only took him two steps, two steps to find home again. And then he had them in his arms, his Bones and his daughter, holding them close to his chest. Lips found hair, feathery soft and silky, and a broken sob escaped her mouth as she started to cry in earnest. The arm that wasn't supporting the baby came around his neck, pulling him even closer, and she pressed her hot cheek against his face.

"Booth."

His name was a whisper, and he squeezed her hard.

"It's over, Bones, over."

"I am so sorry, so sorry."

"Sh-sh... You did nothing wrong. Thank you for keeping us safe."

"I missed you so much."

He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, as the darkness of a hundred lonely nights came back to him.

"You've no idea..."

"I couldn't tell you, you had to stay in the system..."

"Sh... I know, okay? I get it."

Loosening his hold on her, he took her face in both hands, using his thumbs to brush her tears away.

"I know, Bones. You were very brave."

Lifting herself onto her tiptoes, she sought his lips the moment he lowered his head. And then she kissed him. There was no shyness in her kiss, no restraint. It was like drinking after an eternity of burning. Like silence after a thunderstorm. Like dawn after the bleakest darkness. His mouth was open under hers, seeking and giving at the same time, and when her tongue made contact with his, she squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that were still falling. She was free again. Finally.

And he could taste her. Could taste her fear, her loneliness, her struggles.

And he could touch her. Warm, solid and real in his arms.

Could smell her. The utterly familiar combination of baby powder and woman.

Could hear her. Sobbing and whispering.

And when he opened his eyes, eventually, he could see her. There were dark circles under her puffy eyes and her hair was slightly longer, curlier... She had lost weight, and he didn't recognize the clothes she was wearing. She was beautiful, so beautiful...

He could _sense_ her with everything he had, and with a profound click of rightness, his world fell into place again. Finally.

"I love you."

His voice was hoarse and she sniffled, giving him a watery, almost shy smile.

"I love you, too, Booth. More than I could ever express."

Her gaze fell to the child on her hip. With a thumb in her mouth, Christine looked back at her. She had tolerated all the hugging and kissing without protest, as if understanding the magnitude of the moment. Or maybe they had just squeezed her a tad too much.

With a gentle smile, she handed the baby to him.

"Someone else has missed you as well."

"Hey Christine... oh, whoa, she's gotten heavy!"

Brennan dropped her gaze.

"Three months... I have daily notes of her development and I recorded the most important moments for you."

He rocked the baby in his arms, and Christine giggled happily.

"You missed your daddy? Huh? Da da... I missed you, too, little girl... So much..." he murmured.

His lips landed on chubby cheeks and he inhaled the sweet baby scent of his daughter.

"Are you still breastfeeding her?"

"Only in the evenings."

"I missed so much," he whispered, and it wasn't directed at Brennan, but, nonetheless, she flinched.

"Booth... I am so sorry..."

He blinked away the pain and when he looked at her again, she found nothing but warmth in his deep brown eyes.

"It's not your fault... it's _his_. And I've got you back. Thank God..."

Opening her arms, Brennan enfolded both of them in a gentle embrace, and his free hand tangled in her hair, as he let go of a shuddered breath, let go of so much more.

They would be okay, she knew it with a sudden rush of love and devotion. Knew it from a place far older than logic and mankind even. What they had... it was unbreakable, and as long as she would breathe, as long as he would breathe, she would fight for it and they would be whole.

As for him... he had always known it.

The End.

_That's a wrap. This chapter is the first thing I've written in weeks (partly because of amazing things like traveling, partly because I got lost in the beautiful depths of Castle fiction) and I feel a little bit rusty. So, apologies for the delay and I hope you enjoyed this story. I did. _


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